


like your favorite records used to

by prettydizzeed



Category: The Get Down (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, M/M, Shao is out, Shao trying to flirt by insulting Zeke's taste in music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 08:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11077698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettydizzeed/pseuds/prettydizzeed
Summary: Shitty music taste means you're lazy, you don't bother to seek out the good stuff, you don't climb 63 stairs to make out with a stranger. It probably also means he's a conformist, takes what's given to him on the radio and in life, not someone who could stand listening to Shao talking about how everything is made of kingdoms.But. Being in a run-down record store in 2017 doesn't exactly scream conformist or lazy.Maybe he's a fucking hipster.---Shao meets Zeke in a record store and wishes he didn't have such shitty taste in music because he's pretty cute.





	like your favorite records used to

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Favorite Record" by Fall Out Boy, which is such a shaozeke song

He has terrible taste in music.

That should make Shao stop looking immediately—he's holding a REO Speedwagon record, and Shao would take the stairs all 7 flights if that shit was playing in the elevator.

People who like shitty music probably couldn't make it up all 7 flights, which makes this even more of a bad idea because the elevator’s broken pretty often. Shitty music taste means you're lazy, you don't bother to seek out the good stuff, you don't climb 63 stairs to make out with a stranger. It probably also means he's a conformist, takes what's given to him on the radio and in life, not someone who could stand listening to Shao talking about how everything is made of kingdoms.

Also, conformists usually aren't queer, or if they are then they carry some assimilationist bullshit between their lips, and Shao doesn't need to taste that again to know it’s not for him, he prefers the wild in people's hands and the shock like hydroplaning on strangers’ faces. He prefers being dared to keep existing and taking the bet, every time.

But. Being in a run-down record store in 2017 doesn't exactly scream conformist or lazy.

Maybe he's a fucking hipster.

That's almost worse, if he's here because records are cool now to whoever he wants to think he's cool, because it's still conformity, just without the honesty in it. At least the people playing the same song as the car next to them admit they want to fit in. Buying a record just because that's what's in right now is the same level of sacrilege as thinking they all instantly disappeared upon the emergence of CDs. It's fucking wasteful; they'll get bored once there's something new to buy to stay looking cool, and they'll leave the vinyl in some fucking closet.

Shao doesn't look twice anymore at anyone who leaves good art in the closet. Like records, or people. If the music was a fad to them, a passing experiment, so was he, every time.

He’s still holding the record, and Shao sighs. Gives him one chance.

“Don't waste your money on that shit, man.”

The store owner laughs—“Trying to run me out of business again, Shao?”—and nods.

“He's right, it's pretty fucking terrible.”

“I don't really know what I'm doing,” he admits, and Shao snorts, but at least he's being honest, that's a step. 62 left, something in him cautions, as if Shao doesn't already take them in leaps, leaving footprints on the walls on the way down.

He's looking at Shao’s shirt. DEATH TO DISCO, in rainbow letters.

“It's ironic,” Shao offers, because he looks confused. “Because the fall of disco was kinda because of homophobia.”

“Oh.” He swallows. “Guess me hating it is just some internalized homophobia shit then, huh?” and maybe this guy could climb seven flights. He's skinny, but his legs look strong enough. His jaw is all bass, deep notes, doesn't match his classic, sheet music fingers.

“Exactly,” Shao says, and flips the record in his hands.

“So, what should I buy?”

“Nothing, without listening to it.” Beat. “I have all the good ones.”

“If you have them all, why do you keep coming here?” the owner calls, and Shao laughs.

“To save a few poor souls from the sting of regret.”

As he pays, the owner mutters, “Yeah, they'll regret something after you get to them,” but he's grinning, so Shao just adjusts his hat.

“You wanna know what real music sounds like?” he calls without looking back, and it's only an 8-count before he hears footsteps following.


End file.
